Goodbye
by The Original Amareaux
Summary: A little(actually long, but whatever) story about a girl named Addy and the loss of the love of her life, Castiel, after he dies from being infected with leviathans. Better explanation inside. It deals with suicidal thoughts, so beware.


AN: So, I wrote this a while ago, and thought that I would post it just for the giggles. It's dark, so beware. It deals with suicide and dark thoughts. It takes place after Levi!Cas walks himself into a pond and 'dies'. There is a whole other story to go before it, so this is kind of a sequel to it, but you don't need to read it to know what's what in this story. All you need to start out with is that Addy(who may be a witch) and Cas were in love, and now he died. I may post the first story, but it's choppy and worse than this one in the consistency department. Though, it still has a place in my heart, so I'll juggle the idea a little.

Rated M, because I can't exactly remember what happens. I should probably reread it... And try to ignore the spelling errors. I don't think there are many (I'm anal as hell at spelling/grammar).

Enjoy!

The car ride back to Bobby's felt like forever. I was hunkered down in the back seat behind Sam, my mascara running down my face with my constant tears that I just couldn't shut off. I tried to block the images from flashing before my eyes, but it was impossible. I just kept seeing over and over, again, Castiel walking into the pond, falling beneath the surface and just...

I choked back a sob, the sound making Dean and Sam glance back at me from the front, Sam turning to check on me while Dean watched carefully from the rearview mirror with wet eyes. It took both boys to drag me away from the water's edge, Bobby trying to tell me that I was being a damn fool for wanting to go into the water after Castiel. He said the water was contaminated, but I didn't care. If I had my head on straight, I would have evaporated the entire water treatment plant of every drop of water to find Castiel.

"How are you doing back there?" Dean asked, glancing yet again in the rear view mirror at me. I didn't bother answering. I didn't have the energy, or the want to. I wasn't even sure I could respond with anything more than a whimper.

Castiel... He was...

I clutched his still wet coat closer to my chest, and let the tears flow freely.

We reached Bobby's sometime during the night, or maybe it was the next night? I wasn't sure. Had I fallen asleep? I must have, since Dean was carrying me in his arms. They were wrapped firmly around me, letting me press my face into his shoulder. I was glad to be able to have the excuse to hide my face in his shirt. I pulled away enough to notice the black marks where my eyes had pressed to the fabric. My mascara was still running. It was the same color as the muck that rose from where Castiel had...

A fresh wave of pain flooded over me, my fingers tightening over his back, catching his t-shirt a little. I sobbed as quietly as possible as we walked inside without pausing in his stride. His arms tightened around me, as if trying to keep me together as I convulsed silently in his embrace.

I was set on something soft, Dean sitting down next to me. He pulled me close, holding me against his chest. This kind of personal act wasn't something Dean had done often. But he did it well when it was called apon him to show compassion and comfort. I felt safe, but empty. So empty, I was amazed I could produce tears. Where was the water coming from? You needed to be human to produce tears. I felt like I was nothing but an empty shell. And yet, the tears kept coming, Dean's arms around me being the only thing keeping me from breaking into pieces.

I blinked my eyes open, seeing the familiar sight of Bobby's livingroom. Sunlight shown in from the window behind me. Somehow, it felt wrong. Rain should have been falling from dark clouds, blocking out the rays of light like a tarred window pane. But the sun still shined on. I felt hate toward the mocking rays falling on my face.

Sitting up, I looked around the room. It was empty, but voices carried from the kitchen.

"What the hell are we supposed to do, now, Bobby?" Dean's angry voice sounded, making me flinch. I rose to my feet, walking sluggishly to the source. I stopped when Sam spoke, his voice calmer, but still pained.

"Dean, keep it down. You're going to wake up Addy."

There was a pause, then the sound of someone ripping a chair across the floor. When Dean sighed, I assumed he had sat down.

"How's she doing, anyway?" Bobby asked.

"She's... not doing well. She's been crying in her sleep," Sam said. Was I? My face was wet as I touched it. I was glad to see that my salty tears were clear. Someone must have wiped up my face for me.

"I can't blame her," Dean said, roughly. "We all know how it feels..."

"Yeah," Sam whispered. He walked into view as he rummaged through the fridge for a moment. He turned with three beers in his hands, freezing when his eyes landed on me loitering in the hallway. "Addy," he said, his surprise fading to concern. I walked mechanically into the kitchen, not really looking at anyone directly. I saw from the corner of my eye that Dean lifted his head. Bobby was across from him. Everyone's eyes were train on me.

"I'm going to go get cleaned up," I whispered, my voice strained from not being used for a couple days. I didn't care enough to clear it to sound better.

No one followed me, or even called me back to the kitchen as I left, heading up the stairs to use the upstairs bathroom. I closed the door behind me, feeling like a puppet as I watched, emotionlessly, my hand turn the handle on to the bathtub and put the stopper down in the drain. I watched the water fill, then got up, stripping down to my bare skin. I wondered idly that if I had the ability to peal my skin away as well, if I would see anything underneath. The nothingness was eating away, slowly, at my insides, leaving my only layer of protection from the outside world last to chew through.

I stepped into the tub as it filled, the tingling of the hot water feeling so far away. I let it fill to my chin, then sat in the steaming water, everything submerged but my head.

Castiel must have felt like this. Only, his water was cold and shined like glass. No one saved him from walking to the water's edge. No one saved him from exploding into darkness. What became of him reminded me of blood, only so much thicker and black.

Castiel... I wasn't able to save him. I wasn't able to convince him to stop what he was doing, to leave purgatory alone. I had known the power of souls. I had read about the dangerous things lurking with them.

It didn't matter, now. Castiel was... He wasn't coming back. God wasn't going to save him, again. He really was just... gone.

I slid under the surface, intending to wet my hair and wash away the fresh tears that threatened to fall. But as I passed the skin of the water, I opened my eyes. The world was shimmering through the clear water. I could see the ceiling and part of the wall. I sunk a little deeper, seeing only the slightly yellowed spackle above, wavering in the soft light. Castiel didn't see like this. He probably couldn't see anything through the dirty pond water.

I closed my eyes. Yes, he probably had this kind of sight. Dark, lonely. Did his lungs begin to burn at all, before he disintigated, like mine did, now? I didn't take a propper breath before I submerged. Panic should be setting in any moment, but nothing came. Seconds ticked by, and still nothing. I only had the physical feeling of dull pain beginning to throb in my chest, and my throat was tightening uncomfortably. And yet, I didn't have the urge to give my lungs the air they screamed for.

I kept my eyes closed as I exhaled what small amount of air I did collect before sinking down to the bottom. It silently rose up, bursting to the surface. My chest immediately tried to expand, but quickly constricted on instinct, knowing what I was about to suck in wasn't the salvation it prayed for. It was liquid, choking. It meant I would drown. I still couldn't muster up a drop of urgency to move.

How much longer would I have to wait to see when I would finally give in and simply sit up, coughing and spitting up water in my efforts to breathe? It felt as if I could stay down here, forever. It seemed almost fitting. My angel drowned. Why not join him? It probably wouldn't take much longer. Another few seconds? I could already feel the pain beginning to numb. Maybe it would be just like falling asleep...

I was gripped by my arms, being yanked so harshly out of the tub that my shoulder felt like it was being pulled out of its socket. Someone was shouting. Their words were targetted at me. They kept repeating my name. Something wrapped around me, a hand patting my cheek. Then those same hands began to press against my chest, forcing it to move. The pressure made the water in my throat shoot from my nose and mouth, clearing for the air to fill my neglected lungs.

I was coughing, sputtering and hacking loudly. It was making my throat raw.

"What the hell were you doing?!" my savior was yelling at me.

I finally opened my eyes. Dean was hovering over me, holding me upright while my coughing subsided. He looked all the more angry when I didn't respond, only turned away from him to look back at the rim of the tub. It dripped gently onto the palm of my hand that sat lifelessly on the floor next to me.

"Addy!" Dean practically screamed at me.

I turned back to him, confused. Why was he so angry? I didn't understand.

"Why were you trying to drown yourself?!"

Silly Dean. I wasn't 'trying' anything. It was effortless. All I had to do was relax and let the water do the rest.

"Answer me, dammit!" He shook me once. My hair was starting to feel cold on my bare back.

"I'm cold."

Dean's face fell in disbelief. I wanted to stand to go get dressed, or at least stop my cold hair from touching me. It was uncomfortable and gave me shivers.

"You try to off yourself, and all you have to say is that you're cold?" he asked, his voice not as angry. He sounded sad. No, not sad, concerned.

"Can I get dressed, now?" I asked, hating how my skin was starting to take on sharp goosebumps.

Dean nodded, looking like he didn't know what else to say. He lifted me up in his arms, the same way he did when he carried me inside from the car not too long ago. I vaguely noticed Sam standing with Bobby in the hallway, making way for us.

It wasn't long before he depositted me onto the bed I was very familiar with. But it was different, now. Emptier.

Dean gave me clothes to dress in, and I did as he stood out in the hallway with Sam and Bobby. I caught parts of their converstation, but it was hard to focus.

"What was she doing, trying to drown herself?" Dean's strained voice carried to me.

"She's in pain," Sam said. Always the reasoning one. "Losing Cas hurt her more than any of us."

"Yeah, but to kill herself?" Dean asked.

"She was in love with him," Sam said. "She watched him walk into a pond and turn into a bunch of ooze. It's affected her pretty badly."

"We're going to have to set up shifts, to watch her," Bobby said. "She could try this, again." Always the one with a plan.

"I'll do the first watch," Dean said. Always the first one on the job.

"Okay. I'll be up around two, then," Sam said.

I had laid down in bed by the time Dean came back in the room. My hair was still soaked and threatening to knot, but I wasn't interested in combing it out. So, I just laid my head on my pillow, staring up at the ceiling. I found the familiar shapes in the cracked plaster, ones I had memorized since my first nights ever being in this house. Before I knew about demons, monsters and angels.

"You hungry?" Dean asked. I rolled my head to look at him, then shook it gently. He frowned. "You haven't eaten in a couple days. You should have something."

"I'm tired," I said. There was that frown, again. He followed it with a sigh, sitting on the empty side of the bed. He raked his fingers through his hair before turning to me.

"Go to sleep. I'll be here if you need anything."

I nodded, again. Curling up on my side, I didn't bother getting comfortable, sleep taking me in seconds.

I leaped up into a sitting position, screaming so loudly, I thought my voice was going to give out. Dean was instantly there, wrapping me up in his arms.

"Shhh," he soothed. "Shhhh, it's okay."

"No! Castiel!" I gasped, my throat closing as my eyes began to spill like torrents of water down my face. I sobbed wildly into his chest, unable to control my cries of pain.

"I know," he said, his voice cracking. "It's okay. You're not alone."

That was how mostly every night went for weeks. The first couple nights, Sam and Bobby would run upstairs in a panic. But after the first three or four times, only Sam would come up every now and then, more to check on things than hurrying to see if I was in danger. Dean stayed with me during the nights, at the ready for when my nightmares struck.

On the third week, I was beginning to feel badly for what I was putting Dean through. He didn't have to be the one to stay awake with me while I cried. He didn't have to bring me food or made sure I even ate it. But he did.

During the day, for about five or six hours, Dean left to go sleep or just get away from everything for a little bit. Sam would take over, sitting with me in my room while I either slept or stared at the ceiling.

"Hey, Sam," I said, my voice dry from lack of talking. I didn't say much anymore. Maybe that was why Sam perked up for a moment, sitting forward in his chair. He closed his book, leaning on his knees.

"Yeah?"

"Is Dean okay?"

When he didn't answer, I turned from the ceiling, rolling my head in his direction. He looked sad, his brow pulled together.

"He's been... keeping it together," he said. "But he's been hurting."

"He doesn't have to keep taking care of me," I said.

"Yes, he does," Sam said with gentle conviction. "It's helping him, watching over you. He knows that's what Castiel would have wanted."

"Like a last request," I said.

"It might be strange, but making sure you're okay keeps him from breaking down."

I nodded, turning back to the ceiling. Was it helping Dean, the way I was acting? I still couldn't help feeling like a burden. Maybe I could do better. But how?

Dean walked into the room, nodding to Sam.

"Hey," he said. His eyes were darkened with deep circles. He looked years older than he should have. A feeling passed over me. It was sharp, surprising me. Everything I had been feeling had been distant, numb. But finally really seeing how Dean had lost weight, his shirts showing a little baggier than before, his hair a constant mess and hanging over his eyes in places, made a wave of guilt pour over me. He used to be all about his looks, and rightly so. He was a handsome man. But now, he was pale, a thin, unkept beard beginning to show.

"Hi, Dean," I said to him. He turned to look at me, surprised.

"Hey. How're you doing?"

"I'm okay," I said, shrugging.

"Do you know what Bobby was making, downstairs?" Sam asked.

"Something in a slow-cooker," he said. "Smells like beef stew."

"I hope it tastes better than the mud he made last time," Sam said, frowning a little.

"Does he want some help making it?" I asked. Both brother turned to look at me like I just grew a third arm.

"Like, downstairs?" Sam asked.

"Obviously," I said, rolling my eyes. I sat up, carefully pulling myself into a standing position. I attempted a smile, but it had been so long since I used those muscles that I couldn't hold it for long. It made my face hurt. "Want to come down with me?" I asked Dean, "I need a taste-tester." And maybe I could get him to eat more, so he'll gain some weight. It was unfair that he had to suffer along with me. I wanted to help with what I could, to make him healthy, again. I owned it to him.

"Yeah, sounds good," he said. He actually had a look of relief come over him and we headed out after Sam, following him down the stairs and to the kitchen. The boys kept me between them as we went, but I wasn't sure why. Maybe it was some sort of male thing, keeping the female protected. But we were at Bobby's. What was there to protect me from, here?

When I tasted Bobby's beef stew, I almost gagged. Ask Bobby anything about the supernatural realm, and he usually had an answer for you. But when it came to food, the man didn't know how to use spices.

I went to the cupboard, knowing where he kept the beef boulions and other various glass jars of chopped, ground or liquid flavorings. Pulling out what I knew I would need, I went back to the crock pot, shaking in a few different things and tossing in a couple cubes. It felt good to be back in the flow of cooking. I had done it for the boys and the old man more times than I could count. None of them knew their way around a kitchen, so I was glad to take the job. Gave me something to do while they were off on jobs, before I was allowed to go, as well. I became useful after my psychic powers had finally manifested.

Giving the pot a last stir, I took a taste from the large wooden spoon. It was decent enough, though I wished I could have got to it, sooner.

"What do you think?" I asked Dean, who was sitting at the table with Sam. Both boys were watching with intensity. He stood from the table, glancing back at Sam before coming to stand by the crock pot with me. I dipped the spoon, again, then held it up for him, my hand hovering underneath it. He bent down, taking a sample from the end. His brow furrowed for a moment, then he nodded, looking impressed.

"It ain't mud," he allowed. I smiled, again.

"Hey, look who's up," Bobby said, coming in from the back door. He saw the spoon in my hand, making his brow raise. "Checking out my stew?"

"Thought you might want some help."

"You can have the job back, as far as I'm concerned," he said, grabbing a beer from the fridge.

"I guess I'm going to have to," I said.

"Why? Was something said about my cooking?" Bobby asked, shooting an accusatorial glare to the table at Sam and Dean, who had moved to sit back down.

"No, no," I said, "I just thought cooking would be nice to get back into."

"No complaints here," Dean said.

The three of them had a nice, hardy meal, which made me feel good a little. Dean had guilted me into eating at least half a bowl of stew, threatening to not let anyone eat until I did. When I took another close look at Dean's subtly protruding cheekbones, I agreed, eating as much as I could until I started to feel sick. My stomach must have shrunk, because I knew in the past that I could eat at least two bowl-fulls.

Dean had walked me back to my room, rubbing his stomach and grunting uncomfortably as he walked up the stairs. He burped, grunting, again.

"I think I ate too much," he said.

"You practically inhaled your meal," I said, sitting down on my bed.

"It's been a while since we had good food," he admitted, sitting down next to me.

"Sure, make me feel guilty for slacking on my duties," I said, trying to make sure he knew I was joking.

"No, it' s been liveable," he said. "Bearly, but still, we survived."

"Thank you," I said, looking down at my hands.

"For what?"

"Saving me." When he didn't speak, I turned to see all of the jokes were gone. His brow was pulled together, his face serious, pain layered just underneath. I suddenly felt bad for bringing it up, but I had to get it out. "I should have thanked you a long time ago."

"You shouldn't have done it in the first place," he pointed out. I nodded.

"You're right. I just..."

"You don't have to explain," he said. Looking down at his own hands. He ran a hand through his hair, the way it flopped back into its disaray making me frown. He caught my expression.

"What?"

"You need a haircut." I reached up, fiddling with a few strands. The longer his hair was, the lighter it got.

"What, you don't like the bum look?"

"Not on you, I don't," I laughed. The sound was strange. I didn't even know I still could laugh. "C'mon. I'll give you a cut."

"You don't have to-"

"Shut up, and let's go," I ordered, smiling at him. I stood, taking his hand and pulling him with me. We walked into the bathroom, and I sat him on the toilet. I dug under the sink until I found the bag holding the clippers. As I set everything up, I glanced at him from over my shoulder. He was leaning on his knees, watching me work.

"So, um, I haven't done this in a while," I said, holding up the buzzer. "So, it might take longer than usual."

Dean shrugged. "Whatever works."

Twenty minutes later, Dean's hair looked closely like it had, four weeks ago when I last cut it. I ran my hand through it, ruffling out any last hidden pieces. I then brushed off his shoulders, but there was too much hair stuck to him.

"You're going to have to take a shower," I said. He stood, checking himself out in the mirror. I was glad he looked pleased with my work.

"I'm good 'til tomorrow," he said, turning back to me. It was his shift to watch me. Man, was he stubborn.

"I'll get Sam to sit with me until you're done," I insisted as I cleaned the clippers quickly before packing them back up. I walked into the hallway, Dean following me to the doorway to the bathroom. I grabbed a towel and wash cloth from the closet and tossed them to him. "I'll be fine while you're cleaning up."

Dean looked longingly at the shower before he finally gave in.

"Fine, but not until Sam gets up here," he said.

"Sam!" I called, trying to sound becconing rather than urgent. It didn't take him long before he was at the bottom of the stairs.

"Did you call to me?"

"Yeah, can you come up for a minute?" I asked. When he got to the top, looking a little puzzled, I nodded to Dean. "I need a babysitter while he showers." Sam turned to look at his brother, his brow raising.

"Nice haircut," he said.

"Do you want one?" I asked, seeing that his hair was now long enough to tuck his bangs behind his ear.

"Um, no," he said, giving a humorless laugh. I didn't blame him, since the first and only time I had ever cut his hair, I had cut it too short. I was a whiz with clippers, but if I had to use scissors, I was less than skilled. Sam had to go to the barber to get it all straightened out. I felt bad until it grew out.

"Yeah, that's probably the good choice," I said, smiling sheepishly. I looked to Dean, "See you in a bit."

He nodded, shooting Sam a look that only a brother would understand. Sam nodded once, then followed me into my bedroom.

Sam sat in the usual guard chair, following his habit of picking up his book from under the seat.

"Hey, Sam?" He paused, looking up at me.

"Yeah?"

"Thanks."

"For what?"

"Giving me a reason to get out of bed," I said. "Dean's been taking care of me for a while. It's time I return the favor."

Sam smiled, nodding. "Sounds good. He hasn't had anyone look after him, before. I think he needs it."

"I promise I won't try... what I did, again. I can't do that to Dean. Or you, and Bobby," I said. The next words were hard to get out. "And I know Castiel would want me to keep going."

"You're right," Sam said.

We sat in silence for the next five minutes, Dean emerging from the bathroom to poke his head into the doorway. His hair was wet, sticking straight out from his head in chunky spikes. He didn't look like he dried himself very well, water still under his chin and down his throat.

"All good in here?" he asked.

"Yeah, all good," I said, smiling to him. He smiled back, but double-checked with Sam anyway. Sam shrugged then nodded.

"Like she said."

"Okay. Be back in a minute," he said, then darted down the hallway to probably get a fresh set of clothes from his and Sam's room.

In no time, Dean was back through the door, a pair of pajama pants on and a shirt in his hands. I examined his exposed skin, noticing that he had lost a little definition in his muscles. Worry didn't look good on him, but at least a good meal and a shower brought the color back to his face. He pulled on his shirt, looking to Sam.

"I'm all set," he said.

"Okay," Sam said, standing. He gave me a kind smile before he nodded to Dean. "Goodnight." He headed out of the room, Dean closing the door after him. My nightly wakings weren't as loud with the room closed off from the rest of the house.

Dean sat down in the chair, stretching and then laying his hands behind his head. He twitched, rubbing his shoulder.

"You okay?"

"Hmm?" He looked up, then glanced to his hand that was still at his shoulder, trying to rub away the pain there. He promptly removed his hand, shaking his head. "Yeah, I'm fine. Good as ever."

"You're a horrible liar," I teased. Well, that wasn't true. Dean could lie his way out of any perdicament, even if he caught with his hand in the cookie jar. It was just that I knew him too well to believe him when he would say things like, "I'm fine." None of us were fine. Silly of him to think I didn't know better.

"My shoulder hurts a little," he admitted. "But it'll be fine."

"Come here," I said, nodding to the bed. I shifted to face him, sitting in the middle of the bed. I patted the spot between my shins.

"You don't have to-"

"Don't make me drag you out of that chair, Winchester," I threatened, giving him a mock stern look. He laughed, dropping his head before shaking it. He hauled himself off the chair and dragged his feet as he turned to sit on the bed, shifting to sit between my feet. I grabbed his shirt, yanking on it for him to scoot back closer to me. He did as I wanted, moving back until he sat between my thighs. He sighed, leaning on his lifted knees with his arms.

I pulled his shirt up, shoving it over his head. I left it over his face, stifling a giggle as he sighed, shooting me a half-hearted glare after freeing his head.

"Relax," I commanded, then began to rub the skin covering the offending muscle in his shoulder. He winced once, then when I pressed a little harder, he jerked away.

"Ah! Hey! Careful!"

"Shut up and hold still, you big baby."

I resumed what I was doing, and before he could protest, again, he began to relax. He gave an appreciative sigh, leaning into my hands. I rubbed along his back, feeling the muscles underneath. Maybe he hadn't lost that much weight.

No more than two minutes later, he was like putty in my hands. And it was too good to not take advantage of it. I grabbed his sides, making him jump. Not breaking in my attack on him, I tickled his sides, again, making him squirm.

"Hey! Knock it off!" he snapped in the usual guy fashion. What a mocho man.

"What's the matter? Don't like being tickled?" I asked, laughing at how he pinned my hands to his sides, but it was the wrong thing to do. I could still move my fingers, so I picked up my assault.

"Argh!" he cried, rolling to grab my arms. He pushed me back, I landed on my back, trying to keep my hands free by waving them through the air, his own giving chase after mine. I was laughing outright, gasping when he caught one of my wrists, snatching the second a moment later.

"Hey!" I cried through my fits of giggles. Dean was laughing, too, trying to keep me from freeing from his grasp. He had so much more strength than I did, so I knew I had no chance in breaking away.

In an effort to stop my struggling, he slammed my hands into the bed, pinning me down. We were both breathing hard from the struggle and the laughter, trying to calm our hearts from beating so fast. But mine couldn't. In fact, it picked up speed, realizing how we were positioned. Dean was between my legs, his hips pressed to mine. He was angled up above me, to keep from crushing me, but still close enough for me to feel his breath breeze across the skin of my face.

We were frozen in place, staring straight into each other's eyes. I could see him searching for any distress in my face. It was strange, when I did my own mental investigation, and found that I didn't want him to move. Well, I did, but not away. I wanted him closer. I wanted to feel his lips against mine. I wanted to know what he felt like. I wanted that comfort, because this good feeling I was having, I didn't want it to go away. I could feel myself leaning up, angling my chin just so, so all Dean would have to do was lean down, closing the rest of the space between us. He was only a hair's breath away...

"Uh," Dean said, then cleared his throat. He broke his gaze from mine, then released my wrists. Rolling away, he sat for a pause, rubbing his hand against his temple, his brow crushed together, before he stood. He even backed away a couple paces. That sudden distance between us made my heart clench, painfully.

"I'm sorry," I said, trying to cover up my hurt feelings. From the look on his face, I failed miserably.

"No. No-no," he said, a little too quickly. "You... you didn't do anything."

"Dean," I tried to explain, but I came up with nothing. My mouth had hung open for a moment, before I closed it, looking down at my hands. The air was so uncomfortable that I had to find a way to break it. "So, um, do you think I'd be able to shower, tomorrow?"

"What?" he asked, surprised by my random question.

"It's been longer than I want to admit, since I really had a good shower."

"Um, I don't see why not," he said, scratching the back of his head.

"Okay," I said, shoving the covers back, all while trying to do it in a casual way. My actions still seemed jerky, forced, too fast as I ripped the comforter and top sheet back, climbing underneath. I glanced to Dean, who had sat down in the chair, watching me, carefully. I gave him a small, uncomfortable smile. "Well, um, goodnight."

"Yeah," he said, his hand rubbing absentmindedly on his thigh. "Night."

I rolled over to face the opposite wall, pulling the blankets up around my shoulder.

I sat in a chair in the middle of Bobby's study. I felt immediately uncomfortable, my bad not being against a wall. I didn't like being in the open. Especially when I felt there was something out there that was threatening. Dangerous.

Twisting in my seat, I glanced over my shoulder toward the hallway where the door would be. It was dark, but I had a distinct feeling that there was something there, watching me.

Gathering up some courage, I stood, walking to the darkness, reaching into the inky black space to grope for the hall light. It took a few frantic tries before I flicked it on, light pouring through the hall. I was surprised to see no one there. Well, now I felt stupid. Of course no one was there. This was Bobby's. I was safe, here.

Turning to head back to my chair to sit back down, I caught a flash of tan fabric flying up the stairs. My heart leaped, fear shooting through me. But my hunter instincts were on red-alert. They screamed to hug the wall and make my way up the stairs. Whatever was up there was trapped, now. And if they were hostile, I needed to put them down. I had plenty of experience in this. I shouldn't feel like I wanted to run for the door, screaming until someone came to my rescue.

Beating back the fear, I stalked my way to the stairs, peeking around to make sure the coast was clear before I made my way up. Small whispers in my head told me to skip the third stair from the bottom, knowing it would squeak when I'd step on it. And then to hug the right side of the hall, having an inkling that they were in my bedroom, the door just down the hall. The light was off. The damn lights were always off. Tonight was not my night.

I suddenly realized that I didn't have a weapon. I could use my telekinesis, but it was only for so long, and I didn't know if this was a being that was stronger than I was. But I had to see. I had to know who was invading Bobby's house.

Whipping into the room, I thankfully flicked the switch with one try. Light flashed on, blinding me for a split second before I adjusted. The person in the room whipped around, having been standing next to the bed.

I had to grab the doorway to keep from falling to the floor. My hand went to my chest, as if trying to hold my heart inside. It beat wildly, thumping so hard against my ribs that I thought it was going to try and escape to get to the person staring back at me. Staring with wide eyes, that were as blue as a cloudless sky.

"Castiel," I choked. Was this real? Was I halucinating? I had to blink away my tears to make sure I was actually seeing him.

"Adamina." His voice was soft, but deep, shaking me from my shock. He smiled, relaxing as he opened his arms. He looked relieved.

"Castiel!" I cried, pushing off the doorjam and rushing to him. I expected to crash maybe a little too hard into his warm chest, then feel his arms wrap around me and hold me while I sobbed with my hands gripped around the back of his neck. What I didn't expect was to feel a flash of freezing water wash over me as I crashed not into him, but through him. He exploded with black ooze, coating my entire front, leaking into my mouth and eyes and nose.

The last thing I remembered was choking on the acrid slime, and then I was sitting up in bed, gasping for air. Dean was next to me, holding me in his arms, trying to keep me from rolling off the bed.

"Addy," he soothed. "Addy, shhhh, Addy. You're okay. You're okay."

I turned to press my face into his chest, sobbing loudly. He ran his hand through my hair, trying to calm me.

"It's okay," he murmured through my tears. "It's okay, I'm here. You're not alone."

Thankfully I didn't need a babysitter as I took my shower. Though, Dean sat outside the door, listening for any 'funny business', he had called it.

I relaxed as the hot water kneeded into my skin. I never realized just how tense I had been while I was hold up in my room.

A knock on the door-the second one in five minutes-sounded through the bathroom.

"You okay in there?" Dean asked, his voice muffled by the door and the shower's pounding water.

"Yeah," I said. "Almost done." I shaved my legs, which took half a can of shaving cream and two razors, since I hadn't shaved in forever. I was looking forward to the pair of khaki shorts that I had set on my bed, along with a cammo-tanktop. Dean was going to take me for a hike, well, a short walk through the woods, today, per my request. I needed fresh air, and nature always made me feel good. Something about the power of the trees, the water flowing down small streams, even the birds loitering on the branches above my head, made me feel good. I missed being in the wild.

Shutting off the water and wrapping up in a towel, I climbed out of the tub. When I opened the door, I saw Dean sitting, looking midly relieved, in the chair from my room, next to the door.

"Sorry it took so long," I said, bending forward a little to rub my knee. The skin there was smooth, something else I missed. "Um, remind me to buy Sam more shaving cream."

Dean smirked, laughing a little. He let me go to my room and get dressed. I piled my freshly brushed hair up in a ponytail, not bothering to let it dry, first. When I amerged from the bedroom, Dean was nowhere to be found. Which was kind of strange, but I told myself he probably went downstairs to change into a pair of clean clothes.

I put on make-up, in the bathroom, taking a little more care to make it look nice, since I hadn't worn make-up in a while. But my hands seemed to still know what they were doing, which I was thankful for. I wore a minimal amount, just some natural tones and black mascara and liner for my eyes and pink for my cheeks and lips. It didn't take more than five minutes to do. Eyeing my hair, I wondered if I should do it. I gave up, pulling my wet and slightly curly hair from its ponytail and pausing for a moment. My usual long and straight look to it seemed... wrong, somehow. Like I was copying someone else's style. So, I brushed my hair back down, then took the clippers to it.

When I was done, my hair was no longer to the middle of my back, but hung just bearly below colarbone, and angled along the front, up to my chin. I had put in some modest layers, and redid my side-swept bangs. Then, for an added effect, I pulled out my curling iron I hadn't used in ages, and went to work finishing off my masterpiece.

The finished product was rather nice, I thought. Wide ringlettes hung everywhere, blending together in places. From being curled, the style looked even shorter, bringing my hair's end to just bearly brushing my shoulders.

When Dean still hadn't come back upstairs, I headed down, trying not to fiddle with my hair as I went. It was going to take some getting used to, but the change felt good. Like I was starting over.

I ran into Sam, first, who was sitting in the kitchen, reading something on his laptop while nursing a beer.

"Hey," I said. He glanced up, then did a double-take.

"Uh, hey," he said, sitting up from his laptop. "I like your hair."

"It's a big change," I said, shrugging and pulling at one of the curls. It sprung back up into place, thanks to my hairspray. I wasn't too fond of the feeling of so much product on my head, but that was the downside to curly hair.

"Suits you," he said, nodding.

"Thanks," I said, smiling a little.

Bobby came in a moment later, when I was in the middle of making a hot chocolate. He grabbed a beer from the fridge, nodding to me.

"Look who's out of bed."

"It's not that late in the day," I frowned. When I looked to the clock, it said eleven. Well, maybe it's a little late.

"Nice hair," he said, taking a swig of beer and going to sit next to Sam.

"Thanks," I said, giving him a smile before I turned back to my hot chocolate. I shoved it into the microwave just as Dean came in the back door, a rag in his hands. He stopped, watching me put the milk back in the fridge. I froze, in mid-reach, locking gazes with him.

"You cut your hair," he said, looking at me like I was on fire or something. I stood up, shifting uncomfortably.

"Yeah," I said, pulling at the same curl as before, just at the back of my neck.

"Looks good, doesn't it?" Sam spoke up, breaking the awkward silence between us. Did Dean blink at all since he walked in the room?

"Um, yeah," he said, a little hastily. "Yeah, it looks really good." He coughed once, seeming to have an effort in tearing his eyes away from my new do. Did he actually like it? Because it seemed like he was watching some sort of freak-show in progress. I blushed, mostly out of embarassment, the microwave going off, thankfully giving me an excuse to turn my back to the boys and Bobby, who had all migrated to the table.

"So, I found this strange article, from Kansas," Sam said, thankfully breaking the silence in the room.

"What's it about?" Dean asked, a squeek from the chair being dragged across the floor sounding. He must have sat down.

"A 16 year old girl was abducted from her home, two nights ago, then found yesterday, in a park outside of town," Sam said.

"What's so strange about that?" Dean asked.

"She was murdered. Heart missing."

"Sounds like a werewolf's involved," I said.

"Yeah, I thought so, too," Sam said. "But why abduct the girl from her home? A werewolf isn't capable of thinking about anything but mauling and killing. Why climb two stories into a girl's window and kidnap her for two days? Why not just kill her then and there?"

"No idea," Dean said, sitting back. I made my way over, sitting next to Sam, since it was the only open chair. I was directly across from Dean, which made me a little uncomfortable. I tried to focus on Sam's laptop, even though I could feel every time Dean's eyes would drift to me. Did he really not like my hair? I didn't think it was that bad.

"We should probably check it out," Sam said.

"When do you want to leave?" I asked. I was really looking forward to going for that hike, today.

Everyone stopped, looking up at me.

"What?" I demanded, feeling embarassed from all the sudden attention.

"I don't think it's a good idea for you to come on this one," Sam said, carefully and as gently as possible.

"Why not?" I asked a little sharply.

"Well, you just started to recover from..." Sam paused, looking to Bobby and Dean for help. When no one responded, he sighed, looking back to me. "It's probably a good idea to take a little more time, get your bearings before going out on a job."

I looked to Dean and Bobby, to see if they agreed. Apparently, then did, not looking at me, but down at their beers. I frowned, feeling a little offended. But I couldn't deny their logic. So, I didn't argue, only glared down into my hot chocolate.

"So, what about my babysitter?" I asked, sourly.

"I'll go with Sam," Bobby said, then looked to Dean. "It's probably going to be a few nights, before we get back."

Translation: Bobby wasn't comfortable being in a house in the middle of the night, with a screaming girl that he had no idea how to comfort.

Dean nodded, though I could see he wanted to argue the fact that he wasn't allowed to go, either. One of his favorite things was killing monsters, and he was good at it, too.

So, Bobby and Sam packed up for the trip, loading up the Impala. Dean was looking mournfully at his car, knowing he wasn't going to see her for a little while. I almost wanted to hug him, give him some comfort, but I was still sour from being told 'no'.

Dean nodded to Bobby, and I put on my best smile, watching him climb into the passenger side.

"See you in a few days," Sam said.

"Be careful," I said, worrying a little. "Come back in one, piece, okay?"

"Plan on it," Sam said, then gave me a hug before nodding a brotherly nod to Dean.

"If you need anything, call me," Dean said. Sam nodded.

"Don't drive each other insane, okay?"

I rolled my eyes, then watched as Sam climbed into the driver's side and disappeared down the driveway.

Dean and I stood there for a moment, trying to take in that we were, in fact, left behind.

"Still want to go for a walk?" I asked, still staring down the driveway.

"Why not," he grumbled.

"Let me get my pack," I said, heading back inside and picking up a black and gray backpack with a blanket tied to the top. Inside, I had packed food, water and a few other things. When I came back outside, Dean was leaning on the siding, waiting for me.

"Where are we heading?" he asked.

"Not far," I said. "There's a stream I found, last year, a ways into the woods."

"Lead the way," he said, gesturing to the treeline. I nodded, tightening the straps to my pack before heading in.

It was a half an hour later, and Dean and I hadn't said much. Basically just things like, "Watch for that log. It's slippery," or "Careful of that branch."

I was feeling winded, the pack getting heavy. I felt a little shamed, since I could navigate this invisible path I walked almost every-other day, carrying the same pack with the same supplies, and make it there without breaking a sweat. Now, I had sweat soaking the hair on the back of my neck, the pack bumping heavily against my back.

When it got suddenly lighter, I turned to see Dean pulling up on it.

"Give it," he said, sliding it off my back and slinging it over one shoulder. I frowned, but didn't object. Pressing forward, I found it easier to travel, now that I didn't have to deal with the added weight. I was glad Dean was a nice enough guy to help me, even though we were almost there.

"It's not much farther," I said. Then, after pushing past one last bush, the stream opened up in front of us. I turned to Dean, pulling the blanket off the top of the pack and slinging it open over the grass at the bank. There was a semi-circle of a grassy, flat space feet from the edge of a pool where the water caught up, before moving on. It made an awesome picnic spot.

Dean set the pack down on the blanket, looking around. "Nice place," he said.

"Found it when I was living here, last year," I said. I added, with a smirk, "Back when I was being held hostage."

"Yeah," Dean laughed a little. "You were a decent kidnapee."

"I'd hope so. I basically took care of you guys," I said. I made sure to change 'boys' to 'guys', since everyone was older than me. Sam was the closest age to me, being only four years older. Dean was eight years older, and Bobby was obviously the oldest by a couple decades. Castiel was...

I shook my head, turning my attention to the backpack, taking out a couple water bottles. I tossed one to Dean, who caught it easily. Sipping from mine, I felt the cold water wash down my throat.

"Ready?" I asked, standing. I unbuttoned my shorts, kicking them off.

"What are you doing?" he demanded, his eyes a little wide from surprise.

"Well, we're not here for just a picnic," I said. "We could have had one of those in the front yard."

"Yeah, but..."

"What's wrong, Dean?" I asked, stepping out of my shorts and shoes and socks, before I tugged my shirt over my head. I was in my underwear, but I didn't care. They covered the same amount as a bathing suit. "Scared of some water?"

"Addy-" Dean said, but I turned, running to the water's edge and leaping in, head-first. I knew the pool was deap, at least seven feet, and free of jagged rocks, so I wasn't too shy about diving in. I had swam here so many times, I could recite every pebble in this stream by heart.

Coming up for air, I flipped my newly short hair back, a fleeting thought of my new curls I had worked so hard on were now wet and hanging straight onto my shoulders. The fresh water was nice, though, washing away the sweat that had been stickey on my neck.

"So?" I called, splashing the water a little in his direction. "Are you coming in?"

"Isn't it cold?" he asked, stalling.

"Nope," I said. It was cool, but not enough to make me shiver. It was a welcoming contrast to the warm summer air. "It's only a little water. Don't be a chicken."

Dean perked up a little, looking a bit offended. He didn't like being called a chicken. Putting on a determined face, he stripped out of his jeans and shirt, after kicking off his shoes and socks. I tried not to blush at the sight of him in nothing but his black boxer-briefs. He didn't hesitate to get into the water, diving in in a similar fashion as I did.

When he broke to the surface, he shook his head once, spraying water around him and into my face. I cried out, playfully, splashing him. He gave a fake hollar of protest, shoving water back at me. We splashed for a moment, having fun threatening each other at the same time. Dean finally grabbed a hold of my wrist, stopping me from tossing a wall of water into his face. He pulled me to him, locking me in his grip.

"Hey!" I cried. "Not fair!"

"Don't make me dunk you!" he warned. I pouted, halting in my struggles. He grinned at me in triumph, but didn't release me. Slowly, the smile faded, his eyes becoming intense.

Here we were, again. Dean so close to me, as we floated in the water, his arms around me as I held on to him in return. I could see the same internal battle going on in his head, his eyes searching mine.

"Dean," I whispered. "I want you to kiss me."

His eyes went wide for a moment. He suddenly broke away, and I watched as he swam to the side of the pool to climb out.

"I'm sorry," I said, quickly, making my way back to shore as he walked to the blanket to pull his jeans back on, even though he was soaked. He kept his back to me, hunched and stumbling a little while trying to get a foot into his pants.

"No, Addy," he said, pausing for a moment to shake his head. "I just..." He turned, his face almost ashamed. "I can't." I knew what he meant. Castiel was his brother, not by blood, but by choice. We were a family. And it had always been Castiel and me, together.

But he was gone. He died and wasn't coming back. Not this time.

"Dean," I said, maybe a little too sharply. I couldn't help it, I was frustrated. I locked gazes with him, "I care about you. And I know you care about me, too."

"Of course I do," he said, stupidly.

"But not like you do with Sam, or Bobby," I pointed out. When he looked away, I knew I was right. "I see the way you look at me. The first time, last night, in my room. Then again, a minute ago, in the water."

"Addy..." he tried to stop me, but all of my thoughts were coming out.

"You were thinking about kissing me," I continued as if he hadn't said my name, but I saw him jolt slightly, as if I just slapped him with my words. I had to continue, anyway. I had to say how I was feeling, or it was going to eat me up, inside. "I could see it in your eyes. I want you to kiss me, Dean. Not because of some rebound crap, but because I feel something for you." I took a couple brave steps toward him, a wave of relief flooding over my nerves for a moment, when he didn't back away from me. "I'm grateful for everything you've done for me. You kept me together. And, like Sam said, I helped keep you from falling apart, too."

"Sam?" Dean demanded, flaring with anger for a moment. "What did he say to you?"

"That taking care of me was helping you cope with losing Castiel," I said.

Dean frowned, his forehead wrinkling. I couldn't tell if he was angry or desprate.

"Addy, we can't."

"Why the hell not?" I demanded. "I'm trying to move on. I'm trying to be happy."

"I'm not boyfriend material," he argued.

"I'm not asking for a boyfriend," I countered. This seemed to shock him, his eyes snapping back to mine. "Dean, I don't want another boyfriend. Not for a long time. But I want help to move on, completely. I can't just get stuck in the past, mourning over someone who doesn't exist, anymore." Tears were welling up in my eyes, causing me to stop.

"It's not right," he said, his own eyes growing wet.

"Who says?" I asked, stepping closely enough to touch his face. "Why can't, just for once, we get to have what we want?"

Dean's jaw flexed once, his eyes glancing from mine, to my lips and back, again. Finally, he gave in, swooping down to pull me into his arms and kiss me. At first, I was taking aback by the passion flowing into me from his touch. It was consuming, flooding me with warmth from my head to my toes.

Parting his lips, his breath was hot, filling my mouth as I opened mine, too. His tongue was strong, massaging mine as he probed inside. His hands were clutching at my back and neck, his fingers tangling around the wet hair he touched. He pulled me as closely as he could, his skin blisteringly hot against me.

I laid in bed, Dean not sitting in my room. He had gone to shower and change, after I had. We hadn't gone all that far past kissing, at the stream. It seemed like a good choice, since doing it in the middle of the woods wasn't as romantic as people would think. Plus, if I had pushed for more, I was sure Dean would have probably called us crazy and made us head back home. Instead, we had stopped, breathing hard for a moment while we tried to compose ourselves. We then carried on with our picnik, eating the grinders I had made, and laying in the sun in completely comfortable silence, his thumb rubbing against the knuckles of one of my hands.

Truthfully, I felt bad for pushing. But I was sick of dealing with the look on his face he would get, whenever we were around each other, after last night. I decided it was a mix of longing, but uncertainty. Wanting, but holding back. Because he thought I wasn't ready. But I was ready. I was moving on. And, as always, I wanted Dean to help me.


End file.
